


Not everyone gets a glorious death

by Rapinii



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Microfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapinii/pseuds/Rapinii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean lays in bed the night after the cleanup of Trost and the discovery of Marco's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not everyone gets a glorious death

**Author's Note:**

> This is very short, and the first thing I've written for this fandom. It was the first fanfiction I've written in literally 10 years, so I feel like putting it up here just for that, and because we jeanmarco shippers love to emotionally torture ourselves right?

Not everyone gets a glorious death.

Jean Kirschtein laid alone in bed, sweaty, exhausted.

The barrack was quiet, too quiet. The silence deafening. Everyone seemingly asleep. Everyone kept awake by the pain, mourning in quietude.

Suddenly, he emerged from the dissociated state that had let him, let them all, keep their sanity during the cleaning of what was left of their comrades. The ones who had not survived the Battle for Trost.

Like a sudden wave of clarity,the realization that Marco was gone hit him like a delayed whiplash.

_Marco is gone._

_He's_ _**gone** _ _._

Jean closed his eyes tightly, trying to erase the gruesome image that was etched into his mind. Marco's glassy eyes, his face half bitten off, revealing part of his inner bones and tissue. Rotten skin, the smell of decaying flesh. The horrible images, the details, too many details, that his brain had recorded of the moment.

" _NO…NO…NO,_ _ **NO**_ _!_ " He repeated the words to himself like an endless mantra, trying to suppress these thoughts. Failing, it was futile. The soldier, the strong member of garrison, the team leader...Tonight, he was a broken man.

He curled up around his pillow, clenching his hands, his fingers into it. Holding it so tight that the whole thing could have burst open. Biting into it with all his might to keep himself from crying loudly. Wetting the fabric with tears and snot. His back, his whole body, twitching in harmony with his sobs.

" _You're a weak man, Jean."_  He remembered the smiling face of his freckled friend as he had uttered those words.

A sob escaped from his throat a little too loudly. Someone else shifted uncomfortably in their own bed. A sniffle from across the room. Silence.

 

 


End file.
